Am I just about to lose my mind?It was fun for 5 minutesBut I preferred it when I had less timeAnd I’m sick of sensationIt’s a stroke of luck you can plug me inIf I stink of frustrationIt’s the perfume of excess I think

We want toI don’t want to do any of thisWithout youWe want toI don’t want to do any of thisWithout you

It was purple but the season’s changedNow the clob is complacentAnd the smiles have all been prearrangedLet’s go out and get baconedIn the complex crush of the fake and flooredBut we think that we hate itWe hate it more when we just stay bored

We want toI don’t want to do any of thisWithout youWe want toI don’t want to do any of thisWithout you